


The Halcyon Nightmare

by High5Nerd



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good man, Koz is a good dad, good parenting, protect my girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13530876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/High5Nerd/pseuds/High5Nerd
Summary: Pitch stumbles upon a rumored, mythical location. He wasn't expecting for the memories to come back full force, or even expect a reunion.For the Fountain belonged to his only child.





	The Halcyon Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I need more fanfiction that shows Koz being a great father, so I made one.  
> I hope I did him and Emily Jane justice.

Have you ever heard the mythical story of the fountain of youth? Or at least heard of a natural miracle dwelling in the secret corners of the earth with unfathomable gifts that humans cannot even imagine?

You’re not exactly wrong for believing them, even believing that such myths exist. I’ve seen many things in my life. You know that fairly well, don’t you? You always appear whenever I’m alone. You’re in my head, I constantly hear your warm whispers but I can never place your name or who you are to me.

I might as well confront you about this since you’re the only voice that speaks kindly besides the fearlings and the monsters that dwell within the walls of the darkness I reside in. Nightmares make great henchmen, not good friends or listeners.

 

I never have found this fountain of youth. You know that. Nor would I find that the least bit interesting, I have no need for it. Why would I want something like that when I myself am a spirit with a never ending life? Besides, I don’t want to be young again. Imagining myself as a youngster again does not sit well with me. Pining for something like that seems like a waste of time, and I’ve got all the time in the world. No, instead of finding this legendary fountain, I found this...strange labyrinth leading to a single pool of frozen water.

The labyrinth was quite challenging. I remember getting lost four or five times, always finding myself in a dead end with the walls of the labyrinth surrounded by ivy, clover and scatterings of wolfsbane. It was the near spring, yet it was mildly surprising to see walls of every curvature from north to south covered in freshly green leaves and the ground already sprouting healthy moss and witch grass. Know this: witch grass is always a sign of magic closeby. After the centuries I’ve spent on this planet, this sign is easy to pick up. I absolutely hated the butterflies and moths that flew around inside the walls. It’s as if they never escaped and knew how to fly up and out. They would just fly back and forth, quickly rest below my feet, and just before I might bump or step on them, they’d flutter off like annoying bees around me before hiding once more in the innermost branches and vines of the walls. The many warblings and twitters of field sparrows, bluebirds and robins triggered something within me. I suddenly felt homesick. Homesick to where, you ask? I am not sure, I cannot quite place as to why I felt like that. I had no home, but the closest place I can think to one resembling a home was the earth’s core, under the Isle of Sicily. You know the one, the one with the elaborate cages and ruined marble pillars. Destruction is such a beautiful and flattering display.

No, it wasn’t that. Something told me I was not missing the comfort of the darkness despite the bright sun hurting my eyes from it’s radiant glare or the sound of those chattering birds. For some reason, the sounds, smells of the nearby forest and the forthcoming water source comforted me. I felt closer to something I could not name, and a part of me did not want to leave at all no matter what this feeling was inside me.

 

I finally escaped the labyrinth into the core of the puzzle, and there sitting in the sunlight was a pond-sized pool, frozen through and glimmering in the sunlight. It confused me greatly at the sight of the frost coating the top with snow at the corners of the circular pool. Why would the pool be frozen over if the rest of the labyrinth was in full bloom? It didn’t make any sense to me. There even were lotus and lily pads on the surface, unfazed by the frigid waters and the choking ice. It slightly angered me that I didn’t understand this type of magic. How could these plants be completely fine in something that could kill them? This was a type of magic I’ve never witnessed before. Someone who cared for the labyrinth sure was powerful, or at least knowledgeable in the art of herbology or plant manipulation. 

Something made me reach out and touch the surface of the ice. It didn’t look right to me. It started to look more like frosted glass, not actual wintry ice. The frost looked symmetrical and fraudulent, like a pattern in fabric. I’ve seen frost before. Jack Frost made patterns in his frost making, yes, but they were always at random and never repeated themselves, like how a snowflake should. In the frost I know to be real, there are hidden images of ferns and snowflake patterns, cracks and swirls, stars and ribbons and nighttime sky explosions and trees. In this? They were only swirls.

At the hesitant touch, the ice melted into cool water. Now it looked like actual water, and the lotus flowers glowed white and pale purple against the sunlight. To me, they looked like they grew bigger in size at the release of the iron grip the ice had on it’s leaves. Just seeing the beautiful water swirl and dance around my fingers as I brushed my hand back and forth made me thirsty. The water looked so inviting, seducing me into a dehydration that I never actually had, or at least had felt in a long, long time. I cupped my hands tenderly together, getting enough water into them before lifting my hands to my lips and quickly sipping the water before it slipped through my thin fingers.

 

I never should have drunk the water.

 

Immediately something lit on fire inside me, both my mind and my chest. It didn’t hurt; I felt no pain, but a warmth that I wasn’t used to that I almost mistook for pain. Despite the water being so cold and refreshing, what flowed through my blood and made my head swim was not. I felt like I was getting sick. I felt like I needed to lie down lest I faint at being upright for so long. And I did. I fainted, and before I did, my eyes saw the clouds rush to hide the sun from witnessing me discovering a truth that the nightmares have forbidden me to see all this time.

 

There was a forest, unlike what I strolled through before stumbling upon the labyrinth. It was sparser, with a view of an everlasting, golden meadow full of wildflowers and a manor in the distance with gossamer flags fluttering at the precipice of the roof. 

_ I know those colors... _ I thought to myself,  _ they’re the flags of the general of the golden army… _

 

I don’t know how I remembered what army I recalled, or how I recalled the flags’ origin or the fact that they relate to a person. It isn’t like that person mattered to me. But I wasn’t there, I was here in the woods. At this point, I had no recollection of drinking the water from the pool, or even fainting at the consumption of it. All I knew was that I was put here to witness something, and that I can’t go back unless I see it.

The forest wasn’t like Earth’s. Granted there was evergreen and the whole earth seemed to be smothered in emerald, but there were hints of silver in every seam of every leaf, and the soil was richer and close to a maroon hue, and the trees towered, tall enough for one tree to create a two story-tall cottage with a possibility for an outhouse or a tool shed. Even the bark shimmered like dew covered it, but was bone dry except for the wet moss growing in the crevices of the bark.

 

“Emily Jane Pitchiner, where are you?!” 

 

The sudden voice out of nowhere scared the living daylights out of me. Not only was it out of the blue...but it was mine. I recognized my own voice. But I don’t remember speaking at all. Did I say that without noticing I yelled? Who was Emily Jane?

I turned to see myself, searching before myself like a scavenger. I couldn’t help but become afraid. I...I was witnessing something that I never could get without help from another source. Worse yet, this version of me hadn’t yet seen me. I was terrified my presence was going to change the moment that was to happen, or worse, have this version of myself see what a monster he was in another life.

He looked better than I ever could. His hair was the same as mine, as was his posture and his general physical form. But his eyes were gold like the trimmings of his tunic, strong yet warm and fatherly. His skin was browned from constant exposure to sunlight, even burned on the bridge of his protruding nose. I didn’t realize how big my nose was until I saw myself like this. He wore leather battle training boots, with metal buckled straps that hugged the knees of his navy-colored trousers with silver trim, but his tunic was a plain, fairly worn out peasant shirt but with gold at the edge of the sleeves and bottom. I almost didn’t notice his silver wedding band until he stepped further into the sunlight, squinting to find whoever this girl was.

 

“Emily Jane, your mother is worried sick. You’re not in trouble, I promise,” he resorted, untensing his shoulders and putting his hands on his hips.

 

Out from the nearby underbrush arose a brown haired girl with paler skin, but her eyes golden nonetheless. Her lips were pulled into a fearful frown, her eyes wide with curiosity as to why this version of me was not mad for her running out of the house. Her dark hair was so long, it brushed almost to the back of her legs, and shone just as brilliantly as dark topaz stones. 

The version of me sighed, smiling softly and kneeling down to look her in the eyes, “Always running away to the woods, little flower. You really are like a druid.”

 

“I don’t want to be a lady. I want to be a druid. Or a fairy.” Emily Jane whimpered, looking down at her bare, dirty feet.

He smirked, a teasing one I’ve never seen myself do out of something that was not for spite or insult, “Not a fairy, I hope. They like to eat bugs and tie knots in little girls’ hair.”

Emily Jane held a strand of her hair tenderly, but defiantly looked up at him, “I’ll be a good fairy! The one that delivers gifts to babies when they laugh for the first time. I don’t like eating bugs, anyway.”

“I remember quite well you once ate fried grasshopper, and you liked it.” he grinned.

 

She shyly smiled back, “Only if they’re cooked, I guess.”

 

The version of me laughed, amused at her honesty. I couldn’t help but smile as a response. Something about this laughter I’ve never produced myself made it contagious, it made the air fresher and my mind clear of all worries. I could tell for Emily Jane, it was the same way. She smiled and laughed with him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Was this a memory? Or was it a life I could have had if it weren’t for the nightmares? Perhaps it was both, sometimes magic like this was vague to the most extreme point. All I knew inside and out, and exuded it from my very soul, was that I wanted exactly what I was seeing. I wanted his happy, strong laugh that held no sadness or anger and someone like this child to look at me like a role model. I could never have those two things as the Boogeyman.

 

“Emily Jane, why did you run out of the house?” the version of me asked carefully, sitting next to her on the carefully cut stump fringed with creamy white mushrooms, “you know that wasn’t right.”

Her shoulders sagged at the knowledge of that, “I...I just hate the etiquette lessons. I hate them. I don’t want to be a lady.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s something every young girl must learn. Even boys have to learn these as well.”

 

He was very fluent and capable of talking with her. Never has Emily Jane once talked back or looked at him with disapproval or distaste. She merely held the air of a learning child, a child not entirely willing to listen but knowing full well that her actions were unjustified and contained relief that her father was understanding of that.

….Her father….

I...was her father? Me. The Boogeyman. No, not the Boogeyman. Who was this version of me from another life I’ve never seen before?

_ Kozmotis Pitchiner. _

 

_ Kozmotis Pitchiner, the General of the Golden Army and Royal Prison Guardian. _

 

“What do boys have to learn?” she asked, snatching me from my thoughts.

“How to dance, just like you. How to eat properly at meals, how to talk to elders and guests and strangers. How to be a good host, the proper rules of games and how to properly ride a horse when in town or in the presence of aristocrats, and learn the many languages of the other planets around us, even our own.”

 

“Do they know how to sew? Or how to cook and fix things and clean?” Emily Jane huffed, folding her arms and setting her head on her knees.

“They do. I did as well when I was your age.”

Emily Jane looked up, in awe. Her own father went through the same lessons as her? I could just hear her questions in her head, just by how readable her eyes were. It made Kozmotis smile as well as myself.

“Of course I did. Emily, the moment I was born my parents--your grandparents--wanted me to join the army and serve the King and Queen. Not only did I have to learn how to stitch up my own clothes if they got torn, but also stitch up other people if they got badly cut or wounded. If I hadn’t learned how to cook from nothing, I would have starved when I went to the Battle of Orion’s Belt.”

 

Emily Jane grinned, “Did you eat bugs?”

 

Kozmotis laughed and tickled her side, her giggling at her joke, “Yes I did, you little flower. I ate worms and crickets and ants the size of fingers. My favorite, if you put hot sauce on them.”

“Ew! Hot sauce?”

Kozmotis threw back his head and laughed, “I love how the condiment is the only part that grosses you out!”

 

Emily Jane laughed along, scooting closer to hug him around his middle. I could tell the constant joking and casualness relieved her of feeling like she would be punished for running out on her lessons. I suddenly grew sad at the sight. Sad doesn’t even cover the emotion I felt. Heartbroken, empty, lost...I finally yearned to feel my daughter’s hug again. I’ve never felt the need for family love until now, and it pained me, because I never felt it before until now, and I was only feeling the neverending pangs of it that happen once it’s been taken away.

They sat together in silence, just staring at the dancing leaves above them with faint smiles of content. I envied Kozmotis greatly. I wanted to be a general, I wanted to be married and have a daughter, I don’t want to be plagued with nightmares every time I close my eyes and hear the constant threats and hisses of the fearlings if I didn’t do what they wanted me to do. Only in my sleep did I hear that I was controlled, and in my waking life did I freely be who I thought I was, yet wasn’t. The Boogeyman was a form I took unwillingly. In this life, everything I was witnessing was a collection of the greatest choices I’ve ever made, because they produced beautiful beings into my life and produced beautiful memories, memories of victory, love, trust, and strength.

 

“Little flower, no matter how many times you run out in the middle of a lesson, nothing you do will ever make me angry. Do you understand, baby girl?” Kozmotis gently touched her cheek.

Emily Jane looked up at him with honest yet worried eyes, “Even if I do something awful?”

Kozmotis nodded, “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my little golden flower.”

Her smile was brighter than I’d seen yet. She hugged Kozmotis tighter, and whispered into his side, “And you’ll always be my Papa.”

 

Suddenly I felt like my entire body fell through the ground, without any warning or even feeling the earth shake. The earth swallowed me whole and spat me out, and I woke up lying on my back, with the halcyon dream as a memory and the radiance of the sun blinding my eyes once more. I leaned up and rubbed my eyes, but felt my whole world shatter before me when I saw the familiar dark brown hair of someone I just saw. She wore a dress formed of complete, fresh green vines and a circle of golden pansies around her hips. Her eyes were exactly like the ones I saw in the flashback, but mixed with the honest light was sorrow, of heartbroken truth and shock that matched mine.

 

Emily Jane was no girl anymore.

 


End file.
